While the technological advances of the 21st
century have brought us unparalleled ways to connect with each-other through
social media, they may also be producing a greater sense of isolation. We are
drawn towards feelings
of loneliness as we navigate an increasingly digitized world, even
though the vulnerability of human life is on full display: from cell phone
recordings of the
murders of Americans of colour to videos from those who are documenting
their precarious existence in the rubble of Aleppo;
from the Facebook livestream of the torture
of a Chicago teen with special needs earlier this month to the video-recording
of the infamous ‘Coffin
Assault,’
in which two South African farmers forced a man into a coffin while threatening
to toss a snake inside and set it ablaze.

Not only do we have more real-time glimpses into the
horrors of human savagery, but we also feel an increased intimacy to the
victim’s vulnerability. These developments could, in theory, promote greater
empathy and more empathic action, but responses to such horrors more often take
the form of voyeurism, victim-blaming, shock, momentary outrage and pity, none
of which are sufficient motivators for the kinds of activism that are required.

The crafting of empathic responses is necessary in
building and sustaining meaningful political resolve, but empathy requires both
patience and hard work. The active creation of empathy supports communities as
they hone in and focus on long-term structural challenges while sustaining the
difficult emotional work of collective and personal introspection. Identifying
with the needs and perspectives of others allows for openness and learning, as
well as the incorporation of new approaches and ways of thinking. These are
crucial tools in building new social movements, alliances and coalitions.

But where empathy is demanding, these other responses
to suffering on the internet are easy. Take voyeurism, the easiest response of
all. The victim’s pain, suffering and humiliation are transformed from the visceral to the spectacle. By extension, the victim is transformed from a living,
breathing and feeling human-being deserving of dignity into an object of
entertainment. The dangers of this response aren’t new, though the technology
may be. They echo the workings, public nature and souvenir-hunting of lynching
in the United States, which necessitated an intimate proximity between the
victim, perpetrator and spectator—forming “boundaries of fear and loathing
within and between communities.”

It’s in this context that social media are extremely
important. The cyber-world collapses the distance between the spectator and the scene of
brutality, increasing both the power and position of the observer and the
vulnerability and disempowerment of the victim. Any agency gained from such interactions
is futile unless it is converted into empathy and on to action in which others
are seen and treated as full and equal human beings.

Victim-blaming operates in much the same way as voyeurism, except
that it also attempts to reinforce the perceived normative power of the accusers
and perpetrators, a form of power that’s legitimatized by the victim-blamer through
their relationship to the victim. This power imbalance is justified by the
delusion that the victim deserves the
treatment they receive as a result of their actions or beliefs: they become collateral damage in the quest for a
greater good, a sentiment reflected in a comment on the Coffin
Assault video that claims that “[t]his
is the culmination of years of people killing farmers in South Africa and
taking over their land.”

Shock is another, malleable response to such horrors. Naomi
Klein
has written extensively about the ways in which neoliberal institutions utilize
collective shock in their efforts to increase their power to transform society.
But momentary shock can also be used to heighten empathic action if exposure to
human vulnerability is crafted in effective ways. This requires building
communities of social and political practice in which shock, empathy and
collective action are continuously connected. HandsUp United’sBooks and Breakfast program provides a
good illustration of what this means in practice. Over the sharing of meals and
literature, a politics of solidarity and responsibility can be formed.

On the surface, the next reaction to horrific events witnessed on
social media—momentary outrage—has more merit, because it lends itself to some level
of identification with suffering. However, the empathic nature of this response
is often limited by the sheer immediacy of digitized interaction. The duration
of an event’s discomfort and thought-provocation is cut short by the new and
intense stimulation that is brought directly to our cell-phones, tablets,
laptops and digital watches. In the process, our outrage at injustice is often too
fleeting to allow for any meaningful reflection or the organization of
considered responses.

However, the pragmatism of centrist politics demands that leaders
follow the logic of momentary outrage in their actions. Promises to rectify
injustice are rarely followed by long-term or structural changes. This leaves
space for reactionary politicians to tap into genuine pain that has not been translated
into action. In this context, such reactionary figures come across as truth-tellers even if their arguments
are devoid of factuality. For example, the Danger and Play website claimed
that the perpetrators of the torture of the Chicago teen with special needs came
from the #BlackLivesMatter movement and reflected their
values. These claims were proven to be nonsense, and the alleged
perpetrators have rightly been charged with hate crimes on the grounds of ability.

Pity may be the most damaging of all responses. At worst it is
used condescendingly in projects of social stratification, utilizing a victim’s
distress to essentialize and stabilize their vulnerability while empowering the
observer. At best it is misguided, robbing the victim of their experience and transferring
pity onto someone else and the group they represent. One only need look at the comment
section of the right-wing Breitbart News website to witness human
vulnerability transformed into pity for the sake of power—for example, the
oft-repeated line that “[i]t’s time to
stop pretending that white people are the problem.” Pity also manifests itself
as a passive recognition of suffering, an acquiescence to current conditions that
prevents any meaningful action. Personal feelings of helplessness and temporary
political solutions like humanitarian aid without any structural changes both
reflect and reinforce the power of pity.

The increased proximity to suffering that’s offered by social
media provides a mirror of our own vulnerability, and thus humanity.
Undoubtedly, this can be frightening, but instead of running away from this
experience we should embrace it. We must refrain from shielding ourselves from
the suffering of others because doing so limits our capacity for empathy,
action and inspiration. To be human is to be vulnerable. We are all prey to
unpredictability; tomorrow is not promised today.

Meaningful action and empathic construction require hard work—intellectually,
emotionally and practically. Such labours demand strength, and they cannot be
completed alone. Technology can interfere with these labours but it can also
support them, if we can find ways of binding together our fractured sense of
self and community instead of allowing social media and the internet to splinter
us. To do this, we must find ways of recombining the real and virtual elements
of how we respond to suffering, and shift our sense of time and distance. We
must challenge the instantaneous nature of social media that disable meaningful
reflection while actively expanding our sense of togetherness, for we are stronger
in unity than in isolation.

About the author

Richard Raber is a
Canadian-born activist and Master’s degree candidate at the European
Inter-University Centre for Human Rights and Democratisation. His current
research centers around social memory in contemporary South Africa. He can be
found on Twitter @RaberRichard.

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